As they kept on Bob was fortified to undergo any amount of fatigue. The thought of being connected with the expedition that might unearth the long cherished secret of the rustlers was enough
to give anyone additional courage and endurance.
Still, when an hour had passed, and they were still on the move, he admitted that he was getting a little tired.
Now and then they could get glimpses of the moon, though as a rule their passage was continued through dense shadows, where the overhanging rocks shut out the light; or the same result was obtained through the trees under which the trail led.
Looking up from time to time Bob could see the outline of a ridge on either side. He could not remember ever having looked upon such a peculiar formation during his previous visit to Thunder Mountain. Then Frank’s surmise must have hit near the truth, and they were now moving along a narrow little valley that was artfully concealed behind the crest of the mountain.
“How about it, getting tired?” questioned Frank, when an opportunity arose that brought their heads close together.
“Oh! nothing to speak of,” replied the other; for Bob was proud, and would never willingly admit that he lacked in nerve or ability to equal others in anything undertaken.
“I’ve got a hunch that we must be near the turning-off place,” Frank went on, with the idea of bolstering up the waning powers of his chum.
“That sounds as if you didn’t believe this might
be the valley where they keep their stock,” remarked Bob, wondering a little.